


Danse Macabre

by lune_etheree



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (sorta), Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Erik is a Sweetheart, Erik lives, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Minor Character Death, Non Graphic Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Oops, Palais Garnier, Post-Canon, Selena Aster (OFC), Set just after Christine leaves, The Author Regrets Nothing, Time Travel, mostly - Freeform, so selena has no idea about anything, the phantom musical/book doesn't exist in the modern era, there are a few minor changes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-01-03 10:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lune_etheree/pseuds/lune_etheree
Summary: "Who is this angel? This angel of music, hide no longer, secret and strange angel."





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - Graphic descriptions of mental/physical abuse, blood, minor character death, and brief attempted non-con. Please don't read this story if this could trigger you.
> 
> NOTE ON CANON - only Christine, Raoul and Mme. Giry know where the Phantom's lair is, and when Christine and Raoul escape, nobody at the Opera sees them when they leave Paris for good. The Opera does not burn down, it suffers a small fire that still burned quite a bit of the main auditorium but it was rebuilt. As for the opera workers, they are more frightened than ever and truly believe they are haunted by a demonic ghost, considering as the last time anyone tried to catch the Phantom, both of them were never seen again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
lune_etheree/audrey x

As strange as it is to say, all the trouble began over one old polaroid. 

It wasn’t the type of photo that parents would get angry at their child about - not a picture of her drunk and passed out like her more sociable friends who actually went out to parties, or something more risqué than that, pictures that usually wind up being distributed around to anyone and everyone, that make you the brunt of lewd mockery. Rather, it was simply an inconspicuous picture of two smiling girls, one a young adult, the other visibly younger, perhaps only just in her teenage years, both sitting together under a beautifully lit Christmas tree.

“_ Selena and Tessa - Christmas! _” her mother read tauntingly in a theatrically high pitched, mocking sing-song, as she tossed the only image her daughter had of her older sister into the candle Selena had burning on her childhood desk. It instantly caught fire, flames licking up the sides and eating away at the memory she held dear. She’d shot up off the floor and made a desperate grab for it, but it was too late, the entire picture coated in boiling wax and burning flame, her looping handwriting growing illegible as the polaroid became mere kindling for the small blaze.

The brunette whimpered as she was forcefully grabbed by the roots of her already short curls, hands flailing wildly to remove her hair from her mother’s iron grip, but to no avail. Hissing as talon like nails - much unlike her short, well rounded ones, dug into her wrist - she attempted to yank herself away from her mother and save the one valuable thing she had left from Ana, because she knew exactly what was coming next - it had happened so many times before throughout her teenage years. 

It was the reason why she had tried to keep away despite all the false, whining pleas. 

The only reason she’d returned at all was because she was because she was relentlessly guilt-tripped by the rest of her unaware family members until she’d promised to stay with her ‘lonely’ mother for the end of her Christmas holidays - which always ended up more like a family reunion than anything - instead of staying with her cousin like she’d planned to from the start.

It had surprisingly been quite amicable for the most part - if you disregarded the snide comments every so often about abandoning the person who’d raised you, the other half of her family and her choice to study abroad at ‘La Sorbonne’ in Paris (instead of somewhere overly prestigious and nearer to home like Oxford or Cambridge). But still, she knew how her mother could be, a regular Jekyll and Hyde, nice one minute and cruel the next. To Selena, her mother was like a volatile bomb - just waiting for the moment to go off.

And just as she dreaded, her mother’s kind mask wore away, and showed the true monster of her childhood underneath, the one that still gave her nightmares in her sleep and haunted her every waking moment. That night, when her mother had opened the door of her childhood bedroom, a cup of coffee in hand, to see if she needed help in packing, she’d spotted the now worn copy of the book Ana had gifted Selena on the desk, and gone to look at it, when the polaroid slipped out the front cover. And that had been rather enough.

“No, no!” Selena wailed now, snatching at thin air as she tried to get out of her mother’s grip.

Her mother dragged her by the hand still holding on tightly to the brunette’s hair and screamed into her ear like a banshee, so loud Selena had feared she’d go deaf. 

“How dare you bring that devil into my house! That bitch didn’t raise you or care about you and you decide to bring her in here! You don’t see any pictures of me with you but you have her!” Hard cuffs to the back of Selena’s head punctuated the words as her mother continued to holler obscenities about Ana, more to the walls than anyone else. She felt a mix of faintness and sickness and the smell of burning paper filled her nose.

She was released and crumpled completely disoriented to the floor, ears ringing, the sounds of her mother still raving on muffled to her ears. She was dazed and vaguely registered her mother searching her case, ripping the novels she held dear - the ones that gave her an escape from everything - to shreds, tearing them out by the pages before discarding the empty covers at her feet. 

That’s all she seemed to know how to do - to destroy.

By some miracle, her mother seemed to momentarily forget the one book that mattered the most to Selena, still left closed on the desk, and Selena lifted herself up enough to grab it. The snake of a woman noticed her movement, eyeing up what was in her hand and attempting to snatch it from her daughter. Selena fought back harder this time, crying from effort and succeeding in holding back her mother’s grasping hands. She wouldn’t let her take this from her - it was one of the two things she had from her dead sister left. 

The woman hit her hard on the head, before grabbing at her hair again and screeching for her to hand it over, but Selena clutched it close and out of her mother’s reach, managing to hide it in an inside pocket where it was protected from her mother’s wrath. 

Selena slumped dizzily down on the floor when the woman eventually gave in - or so she thought. Kicking the girl hard in the stomach, she reached vindictively behind her for something the brunette didn’t see coming.

Selena howled in pain as she was hit straight in the face with the whole cup of scalding coffee, the boiling liquid burning her face and dripping down her chin onto the now sodden carpet with a light _ plop _. She screwed her eyes shut, biting back tears as they threatened to spill out, and give her mother something more to use to mock her. 

The shattering of the now empty coffee mug on the wooden hallway floor just beyond the doorway filled her ears - tiny shards of porcelain hitting her face and exposed arms and leaving behind tiny cuts. What accompanied that was at least slightly more relieving - the sound of her mother’s stomping footsteps retreating off into her own bedroom, screaming “You're a demon!” loud enough to wake the whole street before slamming her bedroom door so hard the walls shook. But at least she was now alone and felt moderately safer from attack.

Blinking her eyes open, Selena lifted herself up off the floor - and very nearly fell back down again from the nauseating feeling of blood rushing to her head - observing the wrecked state the room was in. Coffee covered the carpet and the furniture and stained the wall, droplets sliding down it onto the white skirting boards. Ripped, tattered book pages, completely drenched in the brown liquid, also coated the floor, ruined book covers scattered here and there. Her suitcase hadn’t fared much better, the remaining contents was also splattered with coffee, and all her clothes would definitely need washing. 

Looking in the dusty, droplet-covered mirror over her desk, she saw her usually pale face was now mottled and blotchy from being burnt, eyes red and puffy from tears. A particularly alarming, angry-looking burn had developed on her right cheek, and tiny cuts bled thin scarlet lines down her face where the porcelain shards had nicked her. Her head throbbed painfully, her curls tangled in complete disarray around her face. 

She looked like she’d been dragged backwards through a hedge to put it lightly.

Looking down through misty tears, she saw finger shaped bruises forming on her wrist, as well as smatterings of ruby from where the nails had dug into her skin enough to draw blood despite her cloudy vision.

She needed to get out of this house. She wasn’t safe, and she needed to get out. She never should’ve come here, she knew that, why had she let her family talk her into this! She knew it was a bad idea. When had anything good come out of this house! She knew! She knew, knew, she knew…

She was weak and stupid. Just like when she was younger, she couldn’t defend herself then and she couldn’t now and she was enough of an idiot to walk straight back into it, just because she got so easily annoyed by her family’s complaints that she knew were complete balderdash anyway. Why did she do it?

How was she even going to get home at this hour? She didn’t have a car, she was nowhere near the train station, the train she was actually supposed to take wasn’t until late tomorrow night, and clothes were too soaked to change into. Not to mention she was in a completely different country! And certainly none of her friends could come and get her from France!

Even the buses wouldn’t be running at the moment, but at least there was a bus stop close by that she could catch to get to the nearest train station in the morning, so she settled on that.

Checking to see her treasured book remained safely in her pocket, she chucked the remaining luggage in her suitcase and zipped it up quickly, snatching up her ballet flats from the closet and slipping them on. Whatever had gotten splashed in her case she’d have to deal with later. Slipping out of the bedroom, she lifted her case, holding it tightly to her chest and made a dash downstairs to the front door, unlatching it as fast and as quietly as she could. Escaping out the door into the relative safety of the silent, inky night, Selena set her case down on the pavement and ran for it - and she didn’t look back until she had run as far away as she could.

Selena ran until she couldn’t run anymore, suitcase hitting the backs of her ankles every so often. Wheezing in the night air, she saw she wasn’t too far from the bus stop, and sighed with relief and slowed to a walk, crossing the thankfully quiet street towards it.

She was aware that if anyone saw her right now she’d look insane. Running around outside with a suitcase - in the depths of a bitterly cold winter night - in a stained wispy vintage nightdress, equally stained brightly coloured kimono, no coat or socks - just some old worn black flats, bruises, cuts…

Wind whipped round her legs, rustling the trees overhead, and she shivered, pausing to tie the thin kimono tighter around her. At least she wasn’t as susceptible to the cold as most of the people she knew or she’d really be freezing right now.

Reaching the bus stop, she realised that it was one of the few in England that had no shelter, just a single pole telling the bus times. And it was just her luck that she was right for once - there were no buses until 6am. So she had to find a place to rest for about 5 hours.

And just as if it couldn’t get any worse - it began to completely pour down with piercing rain, soaking her already wet clothes and dripping hair.

Normally she loved the rain, but in this situation, there wasn’t much about it to like. 

Dragging her suitcase along with her, she quickly ducked under a nearby fir tree bordering the park next to the bus stop for shelter. Thankfully the tree was quite densely covered by it’s branches, so she found herself relatively dry, and out of the wind that had begun to howl, and the sheets of rain now darkening the grey pavement into a bluish black colour.

With nothing else to do but wait, she leant against back against the rugged bark of the tree, hugging her knees to her chest, clutching the handle of her case and letting the patter of the rain lull her to sleep and the darkness of the night engulf her.

She dreamt of raging winds and shadows enveloping her and falling into darkness.


	2. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

_ “ Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! ” _

She awoke to a rough shaking on her arms, and upon blinking her eyes open owlishly, she immediately screwed them shut again from the blinding light of the candelabrum held to the side of her face.

A girl - most definitely no younger than thirteen, but who’s youthfully innocent face suggested otherwise - loomed over her, inky black hair falling in rivulets away from her pale face, peachy lips pulled into a concerned frown.

_ “ Que faites-vous ici mademoiselle? Qui êtes vous? ” _

Startled, Selena gazed at the scene around her, grey eyes wide. Confusedly, she fought against her oncoming headache to remember the night’s events, and how she could have possibly ended up on the marble floor of a golden brown stone hallway, gleaming bronze sconces lining the walls. 

Then it all hit her - the photo, the fight, the rain, the bus stop. Where in the hell was she, who was this girl? Why was she on the floor of somewhere she could only describe as a gorgeous palace?

“_ Mademoiselle, qui êtes vous _ _?_” the mystery girl asked again, coal black eyes searching Selena’s face, “ _ Quelque chose ne va pas? Dois-je envoyer pour la police _ _?_”

Before her mind could register what she was doing, she blurted out “_ Ou suis-**je**? Que se passe-t-il? Qui êtes _ _**vous**?_”

“My, my, _ mademoiselle _, there’s no need to be rude,” the girl tutted, “I’m Meg, the daughter of our ballet mistress, Madame Giry. You are in a hall in the Palais Garnier. Do you remember how you ended up here? Are you injured at all?”

Selena thought she was being perfectly bloody civil considering her circumstances. But she needed to work out what was going on and she knew Meg was just trying to help her, so she feigned embarrassment - the confusion fogging her mind was all too real, so she felt it made up for it.

Studying Meg more carefully, she noticed that the raven haired girl wore an old-fashioned style dress, if she had to guess she’d say Victorian - plain and black and seemingly unending, with a ruffled white collar - the kind of thing she was used to seeing on vintage tumblr accounts. Certainly not in reality. But didn’t she say the Palais Garnier? Perhaps she’s part of an opera set in such an era? It wasn’t exactly the most salubrious, complicated theory, especially considering some of the most famous French operas were written during that time period.

And then there was the question of Meg’s speech. The girl sounded like she’d just escaped an Audrey Hepburn movie. Perhaps she was one of those types that took to method acting who become borderline obsessed with living and breathing their roles? She knew better than to ask (she wasn’t that rude) so she kept her speculations to herself, miming Meg’s speech style in an attempt to ground herself to the reality around her.

“My apologies Mademoiselle Giry, you gave me a fright. My name is Selena Aster. I’m unaware of how I ended up here, but I do apologise for intruding-” She was cut off as a great, hacking cough ripped through her body. She covered her mouth, cheeks blushing red in embarrassment, whilst Meg’s dark eyes studied her worriedly.

“What on earth is going on here?” 

A clearly aging, plump older man, with a bushy moustache and a grimace appeared behind Meg, an expensive looking blue robe with impressive gold brocade draped over his nightclothes and sweeping the floor. His eyebrows raised slightly once he took in the scene before him.

“Apologies for waking you, Monsieur Firmin, however, I found Mademoiselle Aster unconscious in this hallway when I was retiring for the evening. Mademoiselle Aster is unaware of how she got here, and she appears to be suffering a malady. If you may permit me, I would like to call for a doctor for the Mademoiselle in the morning.”

“Aster, you say…” began Monsieur Firmin, and whilst Selena attempted to keep up with the conversation going on around her, the words seemed to blur together, and she was feeling fainter by the second.

She let out another racking cough, eyes fluttering closed, and felt a cool, pale hand press itself against her forehead, burning her skin. She wanted to bat it away, but her arm felt too heavy.

“Monsieur, her hands are like ice, but her forehead is burning up.” she heard Meg say, before shadows that may have come from Erebus himself considering the turn of events, enveloped her once again.

♡

Selena awoke alone two days later in an extravagant four poster bed - the centerpiece to a beautiful, but dated, room lit by a singular candle burning at her bedside.

The small candle rested in an antique looking candle holder, golden flowers etched across its white porcelain surface. Its small flame cast a gentle orange glow about the considerably large room, allowing her to take in her surroundings.

The candle holder sat upon a small, dark pine table, small flowers sculpted down its curved legs. The rest of the room held a similarly designed, sturdy looking wardrobe, which sat next to a bronze vanity, a set of baroque, crimson cushioned chairs sitting in the corner directly across from it. The wall in front of her bed was taken up almost entirely by a beautiful mirror - framed in bronze, the light from the candle dancing across its silvery surface - which reflected Selena’s pale, thin form that was almost entirely covered by the bed’s thick, cream blankets, back at her.

A newspaper sat next to the candle on the table, along with what appeared to be smelling salts and a gleaming white bowl filled with water and a soaked cloth.

Picking up the items curiously, she sniffed the vial cautiously and found that it did indeed contain lavender smelling salts, which further eased her drowsiness. The more interesting of the two was the newspaper - written entirely in French and to her shock dated December 30th 1881!

Gasping in surprise, she blinked at the number printed on the page for a few moments, expecting them to change. But they didn’t. Skimming down the front page, a single headline stood out boldly to her amongst the rows of text:

_ ‘Un incendie brûle Le Manoir Aster - la famille serait morte.’ _

With wide eyes, she read the full article - a Parisian banker by the name of Claude Aster, his wife Lydia, and their two adult children - Achille and Selena - were presumed dead after a freak accident in the kitchens set fire to and destroyed the entirety of their manor a few nights earlier.

Selena Aster was presumed dead. _ Selena Aster _. Her possible distant ancestor, by the sounds of it. Perhaps she had been named after her. Perhaps she was of no relation whatsoever.

She slumped back against the soft pillows, still reeling from shock.

She was apparently trapped in the past, in Paris, and a girl bearing her name, only a year or two older than her, was presumed dead from an accidental fire.

What an unfortunate, yet useful, coincidence...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, please leave me kudos or reviews to let me know if you liked it!
> 
> The next chapter may be out tommorow, I have at least half of it already drafted already.
> 
> A few chapter translations for you all if you do not know French (mine is subpar at best, I am still learning, so if any of it is wrong, please let me know!):  
\- "Miss! Miss!"  
\- "What are you doing here miss? Who are you?"  
\- "Who are you, miss? Is something wrong? Should I send for the police?"  
\- "Who am I? What is going on? Who are you?"  
\- 'A fire burns down the Aster Mansion - family suspected dead.'
> 
> Until the next chapter,  
audrey xx


	3. Masquerade

Engrossed in reading the rest of the newspaper for more clues, she slightly when her door clicked open some time later that afternoon.

Meg’s small frame appeared in the doorway, and once she noticed Selena was awake, she smiled and entered the room. A sharp faced, dark haired older woman followed, whose similarity to Meg could only mean she was related to the girl in some way, perhaps her mother?

“Mademoiselle Aster,” the dark haired woman stopped at the foot of her bed, Meg sitting down in the chair beside it, “I am Madame Giry, the instructor of our corps de ballet. You have already met my daughter Meg.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame.” Selena said, trying to appear as polite as possible. The woman’s sharp, grey eyes that were currently inspecting her shrewdly offered no illusion that she was a fool or lax in any way.

“I am pleased to see you are recovering from your fever, child.” Mme. Giry replied, “However, it would be appreciated if you could explain to us how it was that you came to be in the halls of this opera house.”

Avoiding Mme. Giry’s eyes, focusing just behind her head instead so that it appeared as though she was - if she looked the astute woman in the eyes she would know of her lie immediately, she was sure of it. Selena made her best attempt at a sorrowful, mourning expression, and began her fabricated tale, “There- there was a dreadful accident. I had woken one of the maids - asked her to make me something to help me sleep. Somehow, a fire started in the kitchens, and- and it only spread from there… I smelled smoke from the parlour- tried to call for my family, but they- they didn’t hear me. By then it had spread to the stairs, so- so I ran outside before I was trapped.”

“Maman… Papa… Achille...” Wincing internally as her voice cracked, she looked back down at her blankets and continued, “They- they didn’t get out in time. The smoke- I couldn’t breathe- it, it blinded me for some time. I ran to try and get help- to try to save my family, but I, I was disoriented - and injured by the flames,” She raised her head and gestured lightly to the crimson burn marring her face, “I’m… I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here - I - I must have found my way inside for help… and gotten lost, then… then fainted from the smoke I inhaled.”

Pinching her thigh hard under the duvet, she did her best to bring genuine tears to her eyes, straining her voice until it came out in a distressed whimper, “ _ Ma famille _ … they are gone, and I am to blame!” Her eyes stung from the pain, hot, salty tears tracing paths down her ice cold, bloodless cheeks. She buried her face in her hands.

“Truly, it was not your fault, and I am sorry for your loss, mademoiselle.” Meg’s own eyes glistened with unshed tears as she said it, and Selena felt almost guilty for deceiving the girl, who seemed sweet enough thus far.

“Indeed.” agreed Mme. Giry, “I shall speak to the managers in the morning my dear, so that they may contact the authorities and inform them that you are, in fact, alive so that you may begin to sort out your family affairs. We shall leave you to rest now, mademoiselle. Come Meg.”

“Yes Maman.” Meg rose from the chaise, and, approaching Selena cautiously, wrapped the brunette in a gentle hug, “_Bonne nuit_, mademoiselle.”

They swept out of the room as gracefully as they had entered, leaving Selena alone with her thoughts once again.

Yes, she _certainly_ felt guilty now.

♡

The next morning was spent in the manager's office as they informed the authorities of the whereabouts of the supposed ‘Mademoiselle Aster’, and arranged for Selena to be escorted to the commissariat later in the week for her statement regarding the house fire, and for her ‘parents’ and ‘brother’’s wills and affairs to begin to be put in order. It was decided by the rather generous managers that Selena was to stay in her room at the Opera until a doctor was certain of her recovery from her ailments, and until she could arrange a new living situation, considering she had no funds to do so until the Aster’s will was read.

A few days later, claiming she needed some fresh air and exercise to recover from her illness, she allowed Meg to show her round the Palais Garnier before the corps de ballet’s rehearsal that afternoon. She also spent her time pouring over past opera scores, intrigued especially by one Don Juan Triumphant that she had found covered in dust, abandoned on a lone table in the corner of the music office. The pages seemed to overflow with passion and pain and rather modern ideas for such an era.

When she returned later in the afternoon to her room, she found a gift awaiting her.

In the corner of her room, neatly propped on the baroque style chaise, sat a gorgeously varnished, pitch black violin. It’s bow was still brand new, its strings gleaming brilliant white in the warm glow of the lamplight.

How it got there, particularly when it had not been there before, she did not know. Perhaps Meg had left it in here earlier - however, the better question was how they knew she could play.

Setting her thoughts of the matter aside, and unable to resist the urge, she set down her candle on the table and crossed the room. Propping the antique delicately underneath her chin, she began to play. Spinning gently to the haunting melody that filled the room, she allowed the melancholically joyous notes to unveil all her concealed feelings from over the past few days - sadness over losing those she loved, delight over her new life in a time period that had always intrigued her.

Lost in her music, Selena jumped in fright when the door burst open behind her, flinching as her bow skidded across the strings in a screeching wail.

Meg rushed excitedly into the room, babbling something about being in her room at the end of the hall and going to investigate where the beautiful music was coming from.

Before she could comprehend everything the noirette told her, her friend hauled her out of the room by the arm, dragging her in the opposite direction of the manager’s office and towards the opera’s enormous, colosseum inspired, golden gilded auditorium.

Meg pulled her down the crimson carpeted aisles, stopping abruptly next to the opera managers who were currently overseeing the corps de ballet’s rehearsal - their pointe shoes clacking gently across the stage, tulle chiffon whirling delicately with their dainty movements.

“Monsieurs! Pardon my interruption, but you are looking for a violinist to replace Monsieur Moreau, yes? Mademoiselle Aster could take the position, she’s marvellous, I just heard her play myself!”

Selena blushed a ruby colour and began to gently protest that offering her a job was generous but unnecessary, but Meg cut across her, pleading her case incessantly to the managers - apparently as politely as she could.

Firmin eyed Selena and the gleaming violin in her hand skeptically, but a considering, curious look passed over M. Andre’s face. He waved a hand in Mme. Giry’s direction, who halted the rehearsal, “What could it hurt to hear the girl play Firmin? Very well, show us what you can do, mademoiselle.”

A satisfied smile spread across Meg’s pale face, and she whispered words of excited encouragement at her, making flurried hand motions at her to play.

Unwilling to play what was supposed to be a private, uncomposed piece in front of such a large audience, she readied herself, and let the tune of ‘Danse Macabre’ sing from the ebony violin, echoing throughout the theatre. 

When the final note rang through the auditorium, a cacophony of applause erupted from the ballet dancers, who were quickly silenced by Mme. Giry - who herself looked what could only be described as impressed. M. Firmin raised an astonished brow, and M. Andre simply smiled at her.

“Well, it's decided then, isn’t it Firmin? You may have the position if you wish, mademoiselle.”

Selena accepted meekly - it wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she did need a job and something to occupy her time if she was to stay in the past. Meg, on the other hand, shrieked and threw her arms around her, exclaiming her congratulations.

It was only later that night when she was tucked up in the bed of her newly permanent room, that she once again wondered where the gorgeous violin had appeared from - if it wasn’t Meg or the managers, then _who_?

What she was unaware of, however, was the peaked curiosity of the phantom-like man who had observed the whole situation that afternoon from the rafters above their heads.

It appeared the Phantom had found his new muse.


	4. The Phantom Of The Opera

Weeks passed, and Selena fell into routine. Life was simple in the past - work most of the day at the Opera, explore the city on her days off or after rehearsals finished, have dinner with Meg and her ballet friends, sleep, repeat.

For once, she enjoyed the life she led, adoring learning all about the society she was now a part of. Different music and dance and clothes and books, she found joy in discovering something new in olden Paris every day, sure it was strange without technology and electricity, but she got used to it after a while.

Money was not difficult to acquire either, her inheritance from her ‘parents’ was at least six figures - apparently, she was also the spitting image of the other Selena, or so she had been told when she visited the bank to collect the inheritance - the deceased girl must have been her ancestor after all. Learning the currency took a while - she didn’t ask each coin's worth, that would certainly arouse some suspicion. But after watching Meg and the others closely when they ambled around the streets of Paris on their off days, she picked up a rough estimation of worth for each.

Nightmares she was accustomed to having wore off mostly too, she found herself more well rested than she had been for a long time. When she was shaken roughly awake by her own hoarse screams, she wandered the halls of the Opera until she grew tired enough to fall asleep again, or relit the candle which had long since gone out and read a few chapters of her latest novel. 

She was, however, the Palais Garnier’s only female musician, which made it difficult at times for the rest of the orchestra to take her seriously, but she had made it clear from day one that she would not accept any nonsense. Bisset - their resident idiot cellist - whilst leering at her with his horse-like face, had claimed that women had no place in an orchestra. She had snapped back at him harshly, harsh enough to make his cheeks go crimson in embarrassment after she pointed out the fact that he had been playing the wrong chords for the past half hour. The rest left her alone with a grudging respect after that, and she was unbothered by the glares she received from Bisset whenever she passed him by in the hallways.

Alceste was the Palais Garnier’s latest opera, and opening night was mere days away, so the opera house was a flurry of both anxiety and excitement. The story revolved around the abduction of a Grecian Princess - Alceste - who is rescued by the smitten hero Alcide and her husband Admete. Alceste then sacrifices herself to save Admete, but is rescued from the Underworld by Alcide and returned to her country. 

Selena liked the opera’s score, and learnt her part fairly quickly, looking forward to the day she would perform it for the whole of Paris - even if the focus was not on her.

♡

It was on Friday when she first learnt of the Opera’s supposed haunting. Meg, who had come to collect her for the day’s rehearsal, filled her in on gossip as she tiredly twisted her hair up into an intricate style at the vanity.

“I heard screams coming from your room last night Selena. I worried that perhaps it was the work of the Phantom, he despises new people working in his Opera.”

“Phantom?”

“Yes the Phantom of the Opera! _The Opera Ghost_!” Meg exclaimed, waving her arms about dramatically, “Surely you’ve heard of him,  _ non _ ?”

“No, he’s never been mentioned to me before.”

“That’s because everyone’s too afraid. The Opera Ghost has been all anyone in Paris will talk about for weeks now,  _ mon dieu , _ how have you not heard? His story is the only thing every newspaper in Paris seems to want to print these days! Surely you have seen them all in the manager’s office?”

“No, I can’t say I have. Enlighten me, _mon amie_?”

Meg’s face scrunched up in disbelief, but she dutifully told Selena her tale anyway. Apparently, everyone working in the opera, as well as anyone who lived in Paris it seemed, believed the place to be haunted by a Phantom that wrote the opera they last performed, and kidnapped their previous primadonna, Mlle. Christine Daae during the final act in front of everybody. Now it seemed, everyone was more afraid of him than ever, many of the opera’s old workers had quit after the incident, despite the manager’s shaky insistence that there was no cause for alarm and no such thing as ghosts.

Selena agreed with the managers, gently trying to refute Meg’s belief that the man was indeed a ghostly apparition, or an ‘Angel of Music’ as Mademoiselle Daae appeared to have believed - she would be skeptical until the end of her days in regards to ghosts and otherworldly beings. There were no gods or monsters - only humans and science.

Meg, on the other hand, seemed to be a true believer of the supernatural, and did not take Selena’s disbelief well.

“But the Phantom of the Opera  _ is  _ real!” the dancer insisted to her fervently, “We all saw him! He had the voice of an angel, and death for a face! Selena,_ please_, you must believe me!”

Selena stared hard at the girl for a moment, but from the earnest look on her face she really did believe that a ghost masquerading as a man stole into the opera house and kidnapped her friend. There are plenty of other reasonable explanations for whatever happened to the old soloist - perhaps she planned to elope, perhaps there was a scandalous affair, perhaps she was simply quite mad (it’s not as if the treatments for mental health were at all helpful in this current era) but she kept these thoughts to herself.

Pity that this Christine disappeared though, the current soloist’s singing could shatter glass from what she’d heard during rehearsals, and sometimes Selena feared the diva’s bat like screech would make her ears bleed whenever she called for something from her extravagantly decorated dressing room.

Snapping herself back into the present, she plucked her violin off the chaise, before looking Meg straight in the face.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, because as much as she had grown to trust Meg and her judgement over these past months, even in her time nobody could ever provide concrete evidence of a ghost. And after all, the only ghosts there are in this world are the ghosts left behind by monstrosities others inflict on innocent people. There are no ghosts - just trauma left behind in your mind.

Selena knew this all too well.

“There’s no such thing as phantoms.”


	5. Track Down This Murderer

The first few nights of _Alceste_ went off without a hitch. The first night had been acclaimed throughout Paris, or so it seemed, as every night the audience only grew in number. The Opera managed to gain back some lost patrons as well as some new, well financed patrons on top of that due to the stellar performance of the cast.

Which meant, naturally, because everything was going so well and Selena had never known any luck in her life other than bad, that something was about to go terribly, terribly wrong...

♡

Geneviève La Mer, Selena’s closest friend in her new life after Meg, had been promoted.

It was Sunday, which meant that the Palais Garnier was closed and the workers had the day off. The previous night, Eloise - a ballerina who had one of the larger parts offered to the ballet girls in _Alceste_, had twisted her ankle during the performance and so Geneviève had been chosen as a replacement for her for the next few performances until Eloise’s ankle healed.

Meg, Selena and their other friends had thought that she would have been delighted, all of them well aware that it meant if she did well, the opera managers and Madame Giry might consider her for larger roles in the future. But at dinner that night, she had looked rather perturbed and rushedly excused herself from their table before she had even taken a bite of food, claiming she had a headache.

They had all stared worriedly after her as she went, Meg suggesting that perhaps she was stressed about her new role, and Selena promised the other girls she would go and see her later on to check on her and bring her some food so she didn’t starve.

After dinner, Selena bid her friends goodnight, who were all going to see if the alterations and repairs to their costumes were finished, and went downstairs to check on Geneviève.

Making her way through the empty hallways, her shadow flickering starkly beside her on the stone walls and her heeled footsteps echoing in her wake, she got the eerie feeling that she was being watched. Halting, she glanced around slightly nervously, but didn’t spot another single soul in the hall with her - almost everyone was still at dinner, and the rest had retired to their respective rooms. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her from the shadows. 

Laughing lightly to herself at her own overactive imagination and paranoia, she tried her best to ignore the sneaking suspicion that something was not quite right and carried on down the hall towards Geneviève’s room.

The watcher in question followed close behind her, a masked figure silent and unseen, hidden away within the secret tunnels in the Opera’s walls.

Geneviève was curled up on her little bed when she entered the ballet girls' shared bedroom, knees pulled up to her chest, her face gaunt and panic stricken in the flickering glow of the candlelight. Selena gently set down the handkerchief filled with bread and cheese on the thin plum coverlet that Geneviève had bought on their last trip into town, and sat down beside her.

“How are you feeling Gen?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Her voice was clipped, her thin hands trembling ever so slightly. So maybe Meg was right, maybe the pressure of remembering all of Eloise’s extra routines by tomorrow was getting to Geneviève after all. She didn’t look ill, just nervous and jumpy, rather like a mouse that had been cornered by a large, hungry cat.

Selena kept her company whilst she ate, keeping her voice soft as she filled her in on all the mundane, mindless gossip she had missed at dinner.

About an hour passed, and Selena decided to take her leave. Turning back to wish Geneviève goodnight, she noticed tears threatening to spill from her friend’s eyes. The poor girl looked like she was seconds away from a massive emotional breakdown.

“_Geneviève_? Are you sure you’re quite alright?”

“I’ve told you once before that I’m _fine_. Now leave me alone and stop bothering me.” Geneviève snapped, cheeks staining red. Turning over on her side away from Selena, she settled her head down on her soft pillow, and mumbled “Goodnight Selena.”

Selena was too shocked to even find her actual voice to respond. She knew that Geneviève was simply stressed and it wasn’t really her fault, but she couldn’t help taking it personally. She had always been that way - cold and apathetic towards her family’s words and overly emotional and easily hurt by her friends. An argument with her friends would haunt her for weeks after it had happened, the memory creeping up on her when she least expected it, whereas her mother’s harsh words were so frequent that it hardly bothered her anymore, becoming a mere distant recollection by the next day as they were only replaced by even crueler comments than before. It was just one fact in a list of the many things she hated about herself.

“Sorry Gen,” she whispered softly before she could stop herself, still in shock and voice alien to her own ears, “Goodnight.”

She made her escape as fast as possible, feeling tears beginning to prick her own eyes. It felt like years had passed by the time she was finally leaning gently back on Geneviève’s now closed door - the stifling bedroom abandoned for the safety of the hallway. But her brief solace didn’t last very long.

Just as she turned to head in the direction of her own room, a figure appeared at the end of the hallway, swaying this way and that as he attempted to walk straight. Jerome Bisset teetered drunkenly towards her, a long silver flute clutched in his large hand. She had no idea why he had a flute with him, considering Bisset couldn’t even play it in the first place. But then again, when you’re drunk you don’t really need a reason to do anything.

“Out of my way Aster...” he slurred, accent so thick she could barely understand him, “Been waiting long enough to get my hands on that little whore... for you to ruin it...”

Her blood ran ice cold in her veins.

“If you are referring to Geneviève, she’s asleep.” She said frostily, looking the man coldly in his glazed-over eyes, “You’re not going in there. If you want to talk to her, wait until the morning when you’re sober enough to walk in a straight line.”

He leaned close enough in her face that she could smell the gin on his breath, and Selena backed further away into the door in disgust, hand gripping the handle of the door firmly to prevent it from opening.

“Doesn’t matter… Hasn’t stopped me before… Won’t stop me now...” Bisset grinned lecherously down at her, and Selena felt a pressing urge to be immediately, violently sick. “If you don’t get out of my way… well… a _meddling bitch_ like you should be taught a lesson anyway...”

Selena had seen and heard enough. It had been a dreadful day - first feeling like she was being watched, then Geneviève yelling at her for trying to help, now a drunken lout with a penchant for accosting helpless women was trapping her against a door. For once in her life she was actually going to fight back instead of letting other people take what they wanted from her. If not for her sake then most certainly for Geneviève - she may be upset with her at the moment but she wasn’t about to let anything happen to her friend.

“Jerome Bisset, if you lay a hand on me or Geneviève, I swear I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

“You stupid bitch!” He roared at her, his face turning an angry shade of puce and spit flying everywhere, “I’ll teach you to talk to me like that!”

He raised his hand and then the silver flute came whistling down towards her head. She released her hold on the door to dodge to the side away from it. It missed her by a hair, hitting the bronze doorknob with a resounding clang. Bisset let go of the now dented flute in favour of using his fists and it clattered harmlessly to the floor at Selena’s feet. 

Whilst she had never fought back against someone before in her life, she had read a lot of books involving characters getting into fights and knew how to get the upper hand on someone in theory. Bisset was quite a bit taller than she was and was a great deal heavier, but if she could just hit him hard enough to push him away from her, she could slip into Geneviève’s room and lock the door before he forced his way in. It wouldn’t be too long before the rest of the ballet girls came downstairs for bed and hopefully that would get rid of him. If not, the other girls could certainly go and get help.

It turned out to be easier than she thought. Before he could try to hit her again, she balled her hand up tightly into a fist and punched him as hard as she could in the throat, stomping down hard on his foot with her heel for good measure.

Her hand hurt like hell, a sharp throbbing pain coursing through her very bones, the pale skin that stretched across her knuckles beginning to swell up and turn a pinkish red. But it had had the desired effect. 

In his drunken stupor, the punch was good enough that it had sent Bisset stumbling back away from her with a hoarse yell, slightly tipping to and fro. But he wasn’t looking where he was going and it was already too late as his injured foot met empty air.

A shocked scream tore from her throat as she watched Bisset topple backwards down the stairs that led down to the cellar, his heavy body thumping further down the stone steps and into the darkness, finally landing in a heap at the bottom with a sickening crack.

Grasping tightly onto the gilded iron railing for dear life despite the pain in her hand, her heartbeat thunderous in her ears, she leaned down over the steps to survey Bisset’s pitiful form in the dim light at the bottom of the stairs. The cellist didn’t stir, nor did his neck seem to be positioned at an angle that would suggest he survived the fall. Crimson blood, which seeped from his seemingly cracked skull, began to form in a large pool around his head like a macabre sort of halo, staining the light grey stone tiles a gruesome shade of red.

Clapping a shaking hand over her mouth, she backed up into the one of the marble pillars that bordered the staircase for support, sliding down it until she was sat on the freezing floor before she fell down on her trembling, unsteady legs. 

He was dead.

She never really liked the man because of his misogynistic attitudes towards her in particular, and his behaviour tonight had certainly proved him to be incredibly corrupt - but_ murder ? _She hadn’t meant to kill him, despite the fact he was a complete and utter bastard who drunkenly preyed on young women and ridiculed others for fun. If anyone had seen her push him, she would most likely be imprisoned or hanged for her crime, or worse yet, someone may do some real digging and find out that she was most certainly not who she claimed to be. 

If anyone was to come down and investigate the source of her scream, whilst she could certainly claim to have found him like that, it may still provoke some suspicion on her even though women were seen to be hardly capable of anything in this time. How Geneviève hadn’t come out of her room yet to find out what was going on she couldn’t understand.

She could tell the truth, but when in her life had the truth ever helped her? Not when she told her family about her mother’s abuse - she was dismissed and told to forget about it, not when she tried therapy at her friend’s suggestion - everything she had said was told to her mother later in a letter from the therapist, and certainly not now.

A loud crash like glass shattering sounded from the cellar below her, snapping her sharply from her thoughts. Leaning forwards to look down the steps, she almost fainted at the sight awaiting her at the bottom.

Bisset’s body had disappeared, and in its place lay the remains of a smashed bottle of red wine. Thousands of tiny glass shards littered the floor, glittering dangerously in the faint light the hallway’s candle lit sconces cast down upon the cellar. The largest shards of the bottle floated in what had previously been a small pool of Bisset’s blood but was now a sickening mix of both the blood and pungent, oaky, burgundy coloured wine - which was now conveniently also soaking into the floor and coating over the only evidence that the murder had occured at all.

Gaping down at the remnants of the bottle, Selena wondered dizzily if she had finally cracked. Could it be that she had imagined the whole encounter? It was if the body had never even been there in the first place. And who would have bothered to take a dead body and cover up Bisset’s death - where would they have even taken the body to? There was no way in or out of the cellar except down the steps which she sat next to, and unless there was someone down there already that she couldn’t see, nobody would have gotten past her since Bisset fell down the stairs mere moments ago.

Head spinning, she rose tremulously from her spot on the stone cold marble floor, and cracked open Geneviève’s door just a sliver. Peeking through the small gap, she found that somehow, miraculously, the girl inside was out cold, fast asleep in her bed. She had no idea how Geneviève could sleep through the racket she had made, but it appeared that by some divine intervention, Geneviève just so happened to be a deep sleeper who could sleep through a hurricane if she so wished.

It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard the sound of faint, mellifluous laughter echoing after her as she closed the door gently and darted back upstairs to her own bedroom as fast as her shaking legs could carry her.


	6. The Music Of The Night

She was awoken later that night by her own screams, as she fought off the remnants of her nightmare - _ her mother looming over her, hands nearly ripping the hair out of her skull, fists pounding into her stomach, Geneviève angrily screaming at her to get out, the crunch of Bisset’s neck breaking… _

Shaking herself awake, she sat up, eyes blinking blearily as they tried to adjust to the light of the room. Eyeing the small but ornate clock on the equally ornate bedside table, she strained her eyes in the dark to make out the time. _ One o’clock in the morning. _

A sharp white bolt of lightning flashed across the dark night sky, flooding through her bay window and illuminating the whole room, followed by a tremendous clap of thunder that seemed to shake the very walls of the opera house. Rain pattered lightly against the window panes. Selena drew the thick duvet up over herself, she tried to comfort herself by focusing on the soft taps it made against the glass.

Selena didn’t know how long she lay there trying to fall back asleep - perhaps mere seconds, or minutes, or hours? Time seemed fluid when encased in darkness, like those awake during the blackest parts of the night managed to wander into a separate dimension entirely on their own, separated from those still living, sound asleep within the realm of dreams. 

Eventually, the brunette gave up - a peaceful night's sleep was a lost cause to begin with, blood and death dancing a gruesome waltz behind her eyelids every time she closed er eyes. Selena slid off her bed and slipped on her red kimono, freshly washed and kindly repaired - still intact despite the damage that had been dealt to it. She tried not to notice how very similar the colour of the garment was to the blood that had painted the cellar floor earlier that evening - and the ghastly mix of blood and wine that still soaked the grey slabs now.

The nightgown’s ghostly white chemise drifted around her thighs, the scarlet silk of the kimono brushing against her ankles. Her bare feet padded across the soft fur of the white rug at her bedside as she searched for a sensible pair of shoes. Searching through the gilded armoire, she uncovered a long forgotten pair of ballet shoes buried at the very back that must have belonged to her room’s previous inhabitant and decided those were as close to slippers as she was going to get. 

She struck a match and relit the candelabrum on her bedside table, and, lifting it carefully up in front of her, silently made her way out into the darkened hallway beyond her door. 

The rain had since gotten heavier, and it thundered down upon the opera’s roof like a battalion of marching soldiers. No longer creating gentle dewdrops on the tall, arching windows but instead running in large, unending waves down them, distorting the City of Lights that slept on beyond the patterned glass. Sparks of lightning continued to streak through the midnight sky every so often, the thunder still rumbling overhead. The hallways she walked through were still and cold as stone, the gentle thudding of her heart in her ears the only sound that broke through the silence. She was alone in the darkness save for her own shadow flickering in and out on the walls as she passed by. 

_ Then why did she feel like someone was there, watching her shadows? _

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled under an invisible gaze, but yet no ice cold fear shot up her spine at the thought of whatever _ or whoever _ it was that might be lurking with her in the dark. 

She felt like she should be afraid. _ But she wasn’t. _ In a strange sense it felt… _ almost comforting. _

She soldiered on in spite of her suspicions, drifting through the empty but familiar halls, not really paying attention to where she was going - the masked man hidden within the walls stalking through the secret passageways after her…

♡

Somehow she found herself at the door leading to the roof. 

Unbothered by the downpour outside, she stepped out into the comfort of the rain, a small smile lighting up her face despite her tiredness and the grotesque images plaguing her mind that had been keeping her from sleep in the first place. 

The rain bounced off the slate rooftop in large drops, drenching her almost immediately. It wasn’t long before her nightie grew heavy with cold rainwater, sticking opaquely to her ivory skin. Her short dark curls no longer gently framed her face, instead plastering themselves to her head. Smoke escaped in a continuous stream from the opera’s enormous chimney, giving the dark, starless sky an almost misty effect and completely enveloping the whole roof in smoky fog despite the onslaught of rain. Selena could barely see five feet in front of her - only the flickering orange lights from both the candle-lit lamps in the winding streets below and the glow of the houses spattered across the distant Parisian skyline managing to permeate her smoggy, grey surroundings.

Selena didn’t know how long she stood there, gazing up at the hazy, obsidian sky, allowing the rain to paint her cheeks with tear shaped dewdrops, making her resemble a pretty yet doleful Victorian china doll. Long enough that she began unconsciously humming to herself, making up the melody as she went along. It was a gentle tune, almost like the lullaby Tessa used to sing to her when she was little...

Then another voice joined in.

Dark and slightly ominous, yet somehow managing to be light and ghostly all at the same time. The unearthly, angelic voice continued to hum a deeper accompaniment to her melody for a few more minutes before fading out as abruptly as it first began. Silence - bar her own quiet, wordless song - followed for a while after that, and she was beginning to believe she imagined it, that the tiredness was finally beginning to wear on her sleep-addled brain, until...

_“Selena…”_

The wickedly seductive voice sounded almost right in her ear. She whirled around, trying to find whoever the lush, disembodied voice belonged to - logically, he should be right behind her. But there was nobody there, and anybody else on the roof with her was concealed from her view by the plumes of smoke crawling through the brisk night air.

_“Go back to your room.”_

Not wanting to anger the mysterious, now slightly harsh voice - which, more importantly, belonged to an_ unknown and possibly dangerous stranger _\- she did as she was told and went back to bed, still completely sodden from the continuing storm.

She was probably going to wake up with a god awful cold tomorrow, and when that happened Madame Giry was going to have her head. But she decided - a minute, almost secret, smile gracing her features as she nestled her face into her pillow, drifting off into a blessedly dreamless slumber - that she didn’t care.

  
♡

When morning came, Selena did in fact wake up feeling dreadfully weak, shivering despite the heavy covers she had buried herself under her, cold sweat forming on her brow, and her hair still damp against her cheek.

She groaned despairingly and turned over in the bed, trying to hide her pounding head in the downy pillows, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to block out the golden rays of sunlight bouncing off the mirror and the walls. 

Cracking an eye open, trying to ignore the sharp pain that shot across her temple at the blinding light, she noticed a small, glass vial next to the candelabrum that hadn’t been there the night before. She leaned over to get a closer look and found a letter trapped underneath it, spidery black calligraphy sprawling delicately across thick cream parchment. 

Blinking at it confusedly, she reached a pale hand out from under the blankets and plucked it from her nightstand.

_ My dear Selena, _   
_ The vial contains herbal medicine to recover you from your fever. I suggest you not stand out in another storm lest you catch your death of cold - it wouldn’t do for my opera to lose it’s only talented violinist. _   
_ -O.G _


End file.
